


Not Going Home

by shaylea



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I guess that should be a warning, M/M, Stanley Cup loss, because this deals with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaylea/pseuds/shaylea
Summary: They lost, and nothing will ever be the same again.
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 137





	Not Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this purely for my own solace while watching the final game last night, and figured that I might as well share it. I've not written in this fandom before and hadn't intended to, but I was crying for them and needed to make them feel better, even if only in my own head. 
> 
> Stars forever. I'm so fucking proud of them.

“Just let me.” 

They’re back in Jamie’s hotel room, Jamie slumped on the end of the bed, Tyler with his hip resting against the built-in desk that Jamie’s barely touched in two months other than to occasionally drape clothes over it. It’s their final night in the bubble, because, at last, before they wanted to, they’re going home tomorrow after the shitshow that was the end to their Cup run after the finals started out so well for them. 

The last thing Jamie needs on this overwhelming night is Tyler outright offering him a consolatory blowjob. “Ty....” 

“C’mon. You know I’ll make it good for you.” 

This isn’t what was meant to happen tonight. They were supposed to win, to live to fight one final day. But here they are, drowning in the aftermath of defeat, and Tyler’s offering what Jamie knows is the one thing he thinks he has to give in comfort. 

Jamie looks down, away from his swollen, vulnerable eyes. 

He’s spent seven years fending Tyler off. He’s straight. He’s not gay, he’s not even bisexual like Tyler is. Men have never done it for him in the slightest. There’s nothing attractive about them, nothing pretty.... 

Except. 

Except Tyler _is_ pretty. Tyler’s so fucking pretty and Jamie’s fought against acknowledging it for seven eternal years because any time his thoughts have so much as veered in that direction his stomach twists and he feels like he’s going to throw up because that will—it’ll change everything. He’s always known Tyler would say yes to him if he evinced the slightest invitation. Tyler’s never hidden that. He’s always let Jamie know just how attractive Tyler thinks he is, cheerfully hinting dozens of times over the years about how good he is in bed, how wonderful he can make people feel, and making no bones about the fact that those _people_ include Jamie. 

This is the first time he’s been this blatant about it, though. God, Tyler’s gorgeous. And he’s fought so hard and put his body on the line unhesitatingly for Jamie game after game and Jamie’s so fucking proud of him and he loves him so much and just....

He can’t fight it anymore. 

He has zero fight left in him after the relentless battles of the past two months. 

“Okay,” he says.

Tyler’s head rears up. “Yeah?” he says, astounded. “I can? You’ll let me?”

“I want you,” Jamie says. It’s a relief, the surrender. So much more of a relief than he anticipated. He thought he’d feel torn, slightly sick with all the implications and looming consequences, but instead he feels a smile break the tension across his rigid face that he thought would never smile again. 

It’s almost as good as scoring, this release. 

Tyler looks like he feels the same, once it sinks in to him that Jamie means it. That Jamie is happy about it. “Jamie,” he breathes, eyes enormous, luminous. He looks like he’s just scored a game-winner from an incredibly lucky bounce. “Jamie, fuck.”

Jamie leans back on the bed, parting his legs. He’s still fully dressed, but his loose sweat pants display the truth to Tyler. He’s hard, and getting harder as Tyler’s eyes take him in. Maybe he should feel uncomfortable with being so obvious about it—but no. Apparently his ability to feel negative emotions about this has deserted him. Instead he shifts his hips, thrusting upwards, loving the way it makes Tyler’s mouth literally drop open. 

“Yeah, baby, that’s it.” He’s always used _baby_ with his lovers, and Tyler’s eyes, so haunted and hollow all evening as they went through the inevitable post-loss rituals, sparkle when he says it so it’s obviously okay for Jamie to use it with him too. “That’s what I want. That pretty mouth of yours.”

That pretty mouth breaks into a delighted grin. But it only lasts a second, because Tyler is panting. He’s honest-to-God panting with desire. Desire for Jamie. 

It’s heady, being wanted like this. 

And because it’s Tyler, somehow it’s easy to let the same desire show on his own face. “Please, Ty.” 

Tyler’s on his knees in a second. It must hurt him, dropping so fast, but the health of his troubled knee no longer matters—well, not immediately. It will no longer hinder him on the ice because there’s no ice in their immediate futures, but now is not the time for thinking of ice or future seasons. Nothing matters but the harsh sound of Tyler’s breathing as he rests his strong, elegant hands on Jamie’s thighs, easing them further apart. 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t make Jamie feel vulnerable. He always thought it would, opening himself up to another man. That’s one of the reasons he fought this for so long. Instead, power surges through him. His cock thrusts through the thin material towards Tyler, and Tyler whimpers. 

He didn’t know Tyler made sounds like this. 

He didn’t know a man could sound so sexy. 

“It’s all yours, baby.”

He’s not sure what he expects Tyler to do first, but it certainly isn’t leaning forward to place a soft, delicate kiss against him. Tyler kisses his cock again, opening his mouth, burning hot, and this time Jamie’s the one to whimper. The sound escapes him before he can stop it. 

“Yeah, you like it?” 

Jesus, those eyes dancing at him over his desperate cock almost do it for him by themselves. “Stop teasing,” he grits out. 

“Yeah?” 

Grinning again, Tyler licks a fiery stripe along Jamie’s length, and damn him to hell for doing it through the material so all Jamie can feel is heat. He lifts his hips, nearly knocking Tyler in the face, and shoves down his pants enough to free his cock. It’s wet, almost gushing. He never gets wet like this. Of course it would happen for Tyler. 

“No, no,” Tyler says, pulling back, even though he can’t take his eyes of Jamie’s needy cock. “Off all the way, captain. I want you bare for me.”

A shudder rips through Jamie. Bare for Tyler. Naked for him. Entirely exposed. 

Tyler helps, shuffling backwards on his knees so he can close Jamie’s legs for long enough to strip him, tugging off his shoes and socks along the way, then pushing them apart again and resettling in between them. Heat radiates off him in waves. Jamie feels like he’s naked in the sun, scorched by its rays. 

Tyler beams up at him. “This is more like it.”

“Tyler, so help me, if you don’t get your mouth on me—”

Tyler’s eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t rush greatness, Jameson.”

It’s such a fucking Tyler thing to say, that cocky self-confidence blazing from his eager face, and Jamie had no idea he could love someone this much and want to smack them at the same time. “Now,” he says, trying to imbue the word with all the power he uses to intimidate the most violent defenders, but his efforts are undermined by the way his voice cracks halfway through. “Tyler. _Please."_

“Take off your shirt for me.”

It’s off before he has time to think about the way he’s now fully naked and splayed wide for Tyler, who’s still wearing the hoodie of Jamie’s over his jeans that he put on for comfort after everything disintegrated around them tonight. “You too.”

Tyler’s never needed much of an invitation to get naked. He pulls both the hoodie and the t-shirt he’s wearing beneath it over his head, tossing them behind him while his eyes roam hungrily over Jamie’s body. “You’re so fucking hot, man.”

Not compared to Tyler, but then Tyler can’t see himself, can’t see the flush along his high cheekbones, the sheen of sweat across his shoulders, gathering at the base of his throat. Those red, bitten lips wet from the way he keeps licking them. 

Jamie wants to lick _him_.

“If you don’t get on with it,” he warns, voice rigid, “I’m swapping places with you.”

Tyler’s fingers stab into his thighs. The shock on his face would be funny if Jamie didn’t need so much from him. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly, and Jamie reaches out to slide his hand into the curls that have haunted him for years. He pulls Tyler in.

“Suck me.”

No more teasing. Jamie has to stretch his thighs apart more widely than he’s used to because Tyler surges forward, shoulders forcing them aside, and swallows him down. No tentative licking, no more kissing. It’s the real deal and he’s bumping against the back of Tyler’s throat in half a second. No, no longer bumping. He’s _in_ Tyler’s throat. 

Tyler swallows hard around him, and Jamie squeezes every muscle to keep from coming. It’s too good too fast and he could come explosively immediately, but then it would stop and he wants so much more of this. Tyler rocks against him, forcing Jamie’s cock deeper until he’s pressed right up against Jamie’s belly, then he lifts his eyes. 

They’re still dancing with delight.

It’s so beautiful to see, after the ravaged tears of earlier.

He pulls off, laughing, then plunges down again. 

There’s no way Jamie can laugh. He wants to, a faint, distant part of his brain records this memory to play later when he can appreciate it, but right now the only thing keeping his eyes still open is the overwhelming sight of Tyler looking like Christmas morning, his mouth and throat stuffed full with Jamie’s cock. 

He’s relentless, seemingly as determined to get Jamie off as Jamie is to prolong the moment. Jamie knows that as professional athletes they’re experienced with controlling their breathing, but Tyler seems to have an endless capacity for going without oxygen. He hammers himself against Jamie, and this is no blowjob, it’s pure throat-fucking, and Jamie wants to know what it would be like if he had Tyler pushed up against a wall, unable to back away, while Jamie pummelled his open mouth. 

He’s thrusting against Tyler as it is, surging up to meet him on every stroke. Tyler’s fingers slide up Jamie’s thighs, around the back, clench down on his ass. 

Jamie never lets himself dwell on it, but he looks at Tyler’s ass far more often than he should, for a straight man. Late at night, usually in darkened hotel rooms scattered across North America, his thoughts remind him that Tyler takes it up the ass. He’s told Jamie as much, that smile smug and gleeful as he confides how good it is to be the one opening up for another man, to be the one providing him with mind-blowing pleasure. Jamie was certain he was exaggerating, trying to make it seem more palatable for Jamie, who was horrified by the very concept of it. Now he’s not so sure. He’s horrified by the concept of dicks invading throats, too. He’s stuck his finger down his own a few times out of curiosity and gagged so hard he once accidentally threw up. 

But here is Tyler, gagging a little, reflexive tears swelling in the corners of his eyes, but he’s never looked happier celebrating even the most vital victory. He’s making noises too, incoherent gargles, hungry and demanding. What would he sound like with Jamie driving into his ass?

That’s it, Jamie can’t resist any longer. He should warn Tyler, give him the chance to pull off, but Jamie’s fingers don’t listen to his command, instead they tighten in Tyler’s curls, ruthlessly crushing him against himself, and he lets go straight down Tyler’s spasming throat. 

He’s not sure what it says about him that this is the best climax he’s ever had. 

Once he’s done, he doesn’t want to let go of Tyler, who obligingly remains on his knees, forehead resting against Jamie’s belly as Jamie slowly softens inside him. He stops swallowing, stops sucking, happily cradling Jamie’s cock within the wet warmth of his mouth with no further stimulation. It feels as cruel as the ref’s overtime penalty against him the other night that Jamie can’t stay here forever. 

He just came in Tyler. His come is in Tyler’s belly. 

Suddenly he wants to see. 

His fingers hurt when he forces them to unclench, stiff and rigid from the way they’ve been gripping Tyler’s hair, but he keeps them gentle, wrapping them around the sides of Tyler’s face to ease him back, off Jamie’s cock. 

Drool slides down over Tyler’s chin when he relaxes his spread-open jaw. His pretty pink tongue comes out to lap some of it up. Jamie can’t have that. He’s the one who made Tyler such a mess to begin with, so he tilts Tyler’s head up and leans forward. 

Tyler stills.

It’s not a kiss, Jamie tells himself as he licks along the side of Tyler’s mouth. He’s just cleaning Tyler up, fixing what Jamie put wrong. Not that anything’s wrong with Tyler. Quite the opposite. He tastes as sweet as his smile, addictively delicious. Jamie had no idea. How does he do it? Tyler’s lips are parted and Jamie sweeps his tongue over the soft lower lip that Tyler uses to pout with such charm. That pout will always bring him back to this moment, their hot breath mingling as Tyler sighs into Jamie’s mouth. 

Jamie doesn’t mean to kiss him. 

But he is. That’s what he’s doing, isn’t it? His lips brush against Tyler’s, at first just a touch, fleeting and tentative, but he can’t make himself pull away and instead he goes back for a longer press, and then harder, moving, opening up just as Tyler does and that’s Tyler’s tongue stroking against his, the tongue that just pleasured his cock, now it’s pleasuring Jamie’s mouth and Jamie doesn’t know what to do with this, feeling so good and sweet and urgent like he didn’t just come his brains out in this very spot a moment ago. 

Tyler moans, deep in his throat. 

Jamie pulls back, just enough to free his tongue. “Is this okay?”

He’s too close to see Tyler’s face, but feels those gorgeous lips curve up. “Very okay. You don’t have to, though.”

Except he does. Because he hasn’t cleaned up all the mess. Holding Tyler’s head still, he runs his tongue down over Tyler’s chin, tangling in his beard. 

Jamie’s never kissed anyone with a beard before. 

Is that why it’s so good?

Tyler laughs, low and ragged. Jamie loves the sound of that laugh. It’s been his constant companion for seven years and, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’d have made it through without it. Certainly not on this bitter night of devastation. 

Sliding off the bed, he pulls Tyler up with him. Tyler comes easily, following Jamie’s intent as readily as he does on the ice. He’s shorter than Jamie, that’s normal, but not by much, which isn’t. Jamie’s used to having to bend a lot further down to kiss. 

This works. 

Why didn’t Tyler ever mention this as a benefit of being with men?

One hand anchoring Tyler’s head in place as Jamie kisses him, Jamie slides the other down over sweat-damp skin, gliding across Tyler’s shoulder blade, down the sweep of his spine. Further down, Jamie’s jarred by the intrusion of harsh denim when he’s about to reach the swell of Tyler’s ass. He closes his fingers over it regardless, tightening them as he pulls Tyler flush against his body. 

Tyler gasps into his mouth when their hips meet, and beneath Tyler’s belt buckle Jamie feels the hardness he’s been trying not to think about. 

Instantly Tyler jerks back. “Sorry,” he says, voice rough and scratched. He’s panting, sweat glistening across his flushed cheeks. “I didn’t mean to—you shouldn’t—it’s—you don’t have to—fuck.”

Somehow Jamie has reduced Tyler—Tyler, who’s so eloquent and articulate for the media after even the most hideous of losses when Jamie’s lost language and gone completely nonverbal—to stuttering incoherence. White teeth dig into the lip Jamie was enjoying half a second ago. Smiles all gone, Tyler gazes at him through dark, wary eyes. 

Tyler should never look like that when he’s with Jamie. 

“Can I see?” Jamie asks. 

“You—” Tyler breaks off, swallowing hard, the way he did around Jamie’s cock. “You _want to?”_

Jamie let go of him when he pulled away, something he’s drilled into himself to do with women to ensure he never uses his strength against them, but he reaches out, cupping Tyler’s jaw with his hand and stroking his thumb soothingly over the indents left by those cruel teeth. “I wanna see all of you,” he breathes. “May I?”

Tyler looks like Jamie’s just slammed him into the boards. “But you—”

“I what?”

“You don’t—I’m not—”

Jamie does and Tyler is, he’s pretty sure. “Not what?”

“Pretty,” Tyler says, dropping his eyes. “Not like you’re used to.”

Not like a woman, he means. Jamie’s very aware of that. “I haven’t been sitting here imagining you’re a girl, Segs,” he says drily. “Believe me. I know it’s you.”

That gets those eyes creeping up to meet his again. “You don’t owe me anything. Just because I—you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” 

He hadn’t realised Tyler could be like this. He thought he’d be confident, insistent on showing off to Jamie all the things he could do and be for him. That’s how Tyler’s always made himself sound in the past. It’s how he was just now, given free reign to suck Jamie off. But now Tyler looks like he did that first day on the ice when Jamie introduced him to his new team and Tyler had feared their reception of him. 

“I want to,” he says again. “I want all of you, Tyler. Please? Can I see?”

“Yeah.” Tyler draws in a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah, of course. You can have anything you want of me. Everything, Jamie. It’s yours. I’m yours. If you—you know. If you want.”

“Lie down,” Jamie tells him. “On the bed, on your back.”

Tyler’s hands move to his belt. 

“No.” Suddenly Jamie wants to be the one unveiling him. “Like you are.”

Tyler kicks off his shoes, checking first that Jamie’s not going to stop him, then he clambers onto the bed, stretching out with his head on the pillows, fists clenched in the covers either side of his hips like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. 

Jamie loves the way Tyler listens to him in general. He rarely questions him, automatically assuming that Jamie knows what he’s doing, that he’s analysed the situation and feels competent and sure of himself to be issuing orders. Jamie does. He never says anything he doesn’t mean, never acts when he hasn’t evaluated and weighed and examined all the potential consequences he can foresee. That’s why he’s held off doing this for so long, why he’s pretended something that’s clearly blatantly untrue. 

But this is 2020. It’s the year of craziness and mayhem, of expectations being obliterated and wild insanity turning into normality. No one expected them to be playing in the Stanley Cup final after their disastrous start and finish to the regular season, but that’s what they just lost tonight, the Cup itself, and sure, he’d love to have been the one holding it, hefting it high with Tyler, dousing each other and the team with champagne and happiness, but once again, this is 2020 and nothing goes the way it should, and instead it’s just him and Tyler alone, no victorious team, no Stanley Cup. He’ll mourn that tomorrow and in the coming months, but right now having Tyler breathlessly spread out for him on his bed, that comes a pretty close second to cuddling up with the cup.

The difference is, he reflects, that Tyler will cuddle him back. 

And that, perhaps, is what makes this moment a greater treasure after all. 

Resting a knee on the bed, he surveys his bounty. Tyler’s trembling visibly, tremors shivering through his entire body nonstop. Jamie would worry he was nervous, scared, but when he reaches Tyler’s face, his golden eyes are glowing. 

“Am I good?” he asks hoarsely. 

“So good,” Jamie assures him. “So fucking good, you haven’t a clue.” Jamie’s never seen a single human being to rival him. “Can I touch you?”

A fragmented laugh escapes Tyler. “Always. However you want.”

Jamie doesn’t let his brain run with the _always._ That’s for later, for him and Tyler to figure out together when the future begins, but the future isn’t here now. It’s still tonight, this night Jamie had imagined would be the worst of his life if it happened, and now it has, but he feels like an almighty king. 

Kneeling more securely on the edge of the bed, he leans down to trail a finger over Tyler’s bare shoulder. All these tattoos he wants to explore. Sure, Tyler’s shown each one of them off in the dressing room, but Jamie looked and didn’t let himself see because seeing would mean wanting to touch and touching wasn’t allowed. Not touching with fingers greedy to learn the feel of them, to trace each sweep of ink, and definitely not touching with an eager exploratory tongue the way Jamie banned his mind from imagining. 

He can touch now, though. But it’s artwork on a man who’s a piece of art himself, and there’s so much to discover and he could spend all night investigating every swirl. Unbelievably, he has a better goal tonight, somewhere more enticing to go, so he contents himself with mere moments of drawing his fingers over Tyler’s decorated skin. His hands come together in the centre of Tyler’s chest. It’s heaving, as though Tyler’s just come off a strenuous shift on the ice, and Jamie splays his fingers out to cover it. One brushes Tyler’s nipple and Tyler jerks, his cry cut off by his teeth gritted together. 

“You like that, baby?”

Letting his breath eke out, Tyler nods. “Sensitive there. You know that.”

Jamie does, but again it’s not the kind of thing he’s let penetrate his conscious awareness. In relation to tattoos maybe, but not in relation to him getting to touch. Lifting his hand, he closes his fingers over Tyler’s left nipple.

Tyler shrieks. 

Again he bites it back. 

“No,” Jamie says sharply. “Let me hear. I want to hear you.”

Wild eyes blink up at him. “I’m loud.”

And they’re in a hotel with their team all around them. Jamie has no right to do this to any of them. “I don’t care. I want to hear you.”

“We can say I was distraught,” Tyler says after a taut moment, “and you were comforting me.”

Jamie can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. This began the other way around, with Tyler offering his mouth as comfort for Jamie, but yeah, that works. Tyler could sell it. Jamie just hopes he can keep a stony expression in the face of questions, without an incriminatory blush. 

This time he twists his fingers, not harshly, but sharp enough for Tyler to shriek again, loud and uninhibited. That’s more like it. He brings his other hand into play, alternates between pinching and rubbing for a few minutes, cataloguing the variety of sounds Tyler makes in response to each, the way he screws up his eyes when Jamie pinches and relaxes into bliss when Jamie switches to rubbing teasing little circles with his thumb. It’s fun to keep him on edge, never knowing which to expect, and if Jamie were a nicer person maybe he’d stick solely to sweet caresses, but Tyler’s too much fun to play with and he can’t resist. He twists particularly hard on the right nipple, eliciting a howl. 

Too much, he knows. Just wait until he has Tyler alone in his house back home with no one to hear him scream. 

Tyler wriggles, flinching when Jamie bends over him, but he stays there waiting for whatever Jamie chooses to do. Instead of using teeth, which he’s considering for his next experiment, Jamie soothes those hot, sore nipples with a gentle tongue and tender kisses. 

“Mmm,” Tyler says, flexing beneath him. “Makes me wanna purr.”

If anyone could, it would be Tyler. One day Jamie wants to extract every single sound Tyler’s capable of making. 

“Tastes good,” he murmurs. Tracing his thumbs over Tyler’s magnificent abs, he licks his way down the centre between them. “All of you.” He twirls his tongue over Tyler’s navel. “So good.”

Tyler’s returned to inarticulation. His hips jack upwards and Jamie lays a heavy hand over his upper thighs. 

“Stay down.”

“Jamie!”

“I’m getting there. Be patient.”

“Need you.”

“I’m here. Not going anywhere.” He licks across Tyler’s quivering stomach, all the way from left to right. Who knew Tyler would be so sensitive here? “I’ve got you.”

A quick check of Tyler’s face reveals tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. 

“Ty?”

Tyler’s eyes blink open. “Don’t stop.”

“You okay?”

“Better than okay. Keep going. Please. Please, Jamie.”

He knows how Tyler feels. That was him several eons ago. There’s still so much he wants to try, though, to taste and touch and caress. 

Tyler whimpers when Jamie takes his hands off his bare skin and moves to undo his belt. “Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, Jamie, yes.”

It’s not easy to unzip his pants and Tyler cries out when Jamie rearranges him slightly so he can pull the zipper down. His legs drum helplessly against the bed, his chest drawing up as his back arches frantically. It helps with the removal of the rest of his clothes and Jamie doesn’t draw it out, efficient now that the moment is at hand. 

Tyler, hard, is longer than Jamie. 

He hadn’t expected that. 

More slender, slightly curving, beautiful in a way Jamie hadn’t known a man’s body could be. He’s leaking all over himself, the head of his cock crimson with need, and Tyler screams when Jamie brushes his thumb over it. 

“Use the pillow,” Jamie instructs, “if you must, but don’t keep quiet. I want to hear.”

Clutching the pillow gives Tyler something to do with his hands. He doesn’t cover his face, understanding that Jamie also wants to see, but he stuffs the corner of the spare pillow into his mouth and roars into it as Jamie, at last, wraps his fingers around his cock. 

Now that he’s here, Jamie can’t decide what to do first. So many options. Surveying the situation, he decides changing position takes priority. He doesn’t want to do this from the side, he wants to be all up in everything Tyler has, so he lets go.

“Jamie!” Tyler yells.

He’ll catch up in a minute so Jamie ignores him, tugging his legs apart instead, careful not to flare up the pain from his injuries, and settles comfortably on the bed between them. Oh yeah, this is great, so much better. 

The inside of Tyler’s thigh tastes just as delectable as his nipples. 

“You don’t have to,” Tyler babbles from somewhere far above him. “Your hand is fine.”

Jamie digs his teeth in, just a little, just to see what it does to Tyler. Tyler doesn’t disappoint, clamping the pillow over his face and sobbing into it. Instantly, Jamie uses his tongue to soothe the pain, swirling it around flesh that he didn’t know could be so tender on Tyler’s hard body. When he turns to the other thigh, Tyler tenses, expecting similar treatment. Jamie’s never been much of a biter, but then he’s never had someone with Tyler’s strength at his disposal. Instead of biting, however, this time he presses a kiss against the trembling flesh, opens his mouth and sucks. 

“’m gonna come, Jamie, stop! Stop!”

He is, Jamie can see, and he closes his fingers tightly around the base of Tyler’s pretty cock. “No. Not yet. Don’t come.”

Breath hisses out through Tyler’s teeth and he slams the pillow into the bed at his side, fighting for control. “Too much,” he gasps. “Can’t wait much longer.”

“You’ll wait as long as I want you to.”

He knows Tyler will do everything in his power to comply. He also knows Tyler’s on the verge of losing it completely. 

Tyler’s literally crying, he realises, from the effort of the struggle. 

He can’t put it off, no matter how much he wants to play. There are still Tyler’s balls to examine, the darkness between his cheeks that Jamie aches to explore, but they’ll all have to wait in the hope that Tyler will let him do this again someday. 

“Okay,” he says, voice as rough as Tyler’s. Tyler has won the battle momentarily, but he’s still on the edge and it won’t take long once Jamie gets going. “You can come whenever you want.”

He gets his mouth on Tyler’s cock immediately, in case his words are what push him over. They don’t; he’s still fighting. His entire body clenches and then he drags in a broken breath. Jamie can’t take him deep. Fuck, he has no idea how Tyler swallowed him down so completely when Jamie can barely get his mouth to fit over the head of Tyler’s cock. Since he can’t offer that in return, he loosens his grip on the base and wraps his fingers around the length of it. He likes it hard, fast, but he doesn’t know yet what does it for Tyler. Tyler’s gasping and sobbing and babbling all kinds of nonsensical sounds interspersed with Jamie’s name and Jamie palms his free hand beneath Tyler’s balls and suddenly Tyler’s coming with a muffled scream. 

It’s Jamie’s own fault that he doesn’t pull off all the way. Instead he stays, feels the rush of liquid erupt across his lips, swallows what he can and opens eagerly again for more. 

He didn’t know a man could taste like this. 

Tyler. Maybe other men don’t, but Tyler does. 

“Jamie,” Tyler says a long time later, sounding wrecked. 

Jamie’s head is resting on Tyler’s thigh where it dropped after he licked Tyler thoroughly clean. “Segs.”

“I’m sorry.”

What? He didn’t feel like he could move again for the rest of the night, but he surges up. “Don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry?”

Tyler flaps a weak hand in the direction of Jamie’s splattered face. “Should’ve warned you. Sorry. Rude of me.”

“I knew.” Now that the heat of the moment, so to speak, is over, Jamie feels the chill of the Edmonton air conditioning. “Come on,” he says. “Move. Under the covers.”

Heat still shimmers off Tyler but it won’t be long before he starts shivering and not the good kind. He’s not much help but he slumps wherever Jamie puts him and, after a bit of effort on Jamie’s part, they’re beneath the covers and Jamie’s wrapping him up in his arms. Tyler stiffens for an unexpected moment, then he collapses against Jamie’s chest, burrowing in and clinging. 

Jamie gives in to the temptation to bury his hand in Tyler’s soft tangles of hair, cradling him close. 

“I’m also sorry,” Tyler mumbles into his neck, “’cause I didn’t score. I should’ve scored, Jamie. I know I should have. I kept trying.”

No, Jamie isn’t having this. “Shh,” he soothes. “You’re fine. I know you did.” They don’t talk to each other like this, these aren’t sentiments they typically trade, but he can’t help it. “I’m so proud of you, of everything you did out there.”

“Should’ve scored.”

“I didn’t score either.” It kills him, and he has the rest of his life to dissect what went so horribly wrong, but none of that has any place in bed with them tonight. “It’s okay.”

“Couldn’t give you your trophy.”

“I couldn’t give you another tattoo.” He knows Tyler wanted it, was saving the space for when they did it together. “I’m sorry too.”

“Next time.” Tyler sniffs, it sounds like he’s crying again. “Next time we’ll do it.”

Jamie has no idea if there’ll be a next time. It took a superhuman effort to get there this time around, and he’s not sure he has it in him to try again after the ravages of the past week. Maybe future Jamie will. Tonight’s Jamie doesn’t have the strength to give a shit. “I love you, man. You know that, right?”

Tyler presses closer. “Even though...I didn’t....”

“You were perfect.” None of them were, and yet he knows with complete assurance that every single man gave everything he had. In the end it hadn’t been enough, but nobody shirked, Tyler least of all. “Like I said—” He kisses the top of Tyler’s head. “—I’m so fucking proud of you.”

There’s so much to come in the morning, endless recriminations and accusations and justifications. He’ll have to learn how to face everyone coming home as the captain who lost the Stanley Cup. But he’ll return holding his head high, and so much of that is because of the man beside him. 

“I love you,” he says again, and he knows Tyler’s taking it in the teammate spirit in which, true, it’s also meant, but Jamie means it in every interpretation possible. Tyler might not want that, he has no idea, but with next season still up in the air, he has a lot of time ahead of him to find out. To make his offer and see if Tyler’s willing to accept. 

“Love you too, Jamie,” Tyler mumbles. He snuggles closer, tension leaking away. He’s replete, all pleasured out, and Jamie did that to him. For him. “So much. Always.”

Maybe there’s another night waiting for them, Jamie thinks as Tyler slips into comfortable sleep. A night possibly in another hotel in an as-yet-unknown city, a night that follows victory instead of defeat. Maybe. Hopefully.

But if that night never comes, he’s had this night, he’s having it right now, and if he’s ruthlessly honest with himself, he’d rather tonight went down this way than him lying here with the Cup but on his own. 

It’s so easy to kiss Tyler. He hopes to keep kissing Tyler for the rest of his life. 

Loving Tyler Seguin. 

It’s not the driving goal he ever imagined for his life, but he can’t think of a more worthwhile cause to dedicate himself to. Not even the Stanley Cup. 


End file.
